


Game of Throne

by theoxfordcommando



Series: Soul Meets Soul On Lovers' Lips [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, just makeouts really, light roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoxfordcommando/pseuds/theoxfordcommando
Summary: It's late, it's been a long day. Hawke really just wants to get home and fall asleep.But Fenris has other plans and, when it comes to Fenris, Hawke is always helpless but to follow where he leads.





	Game of Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Don't look at me like that, I know what I'm doing. I swear.  
> *Reappears after months to post almost-smut.* Typical.
> 
> But for real though, shout out to @gothic-princess-witch for her list of Fenhawke makeout prompts that 100% inspired this mess. Ilu.

Hawke was tired. And sore.  
Then again, he shouldn’t really be complaining. Everything had gone well, all things considered.  
Jeven was finally dead, most of the guard had returned to their bunks or their posts, and Aveline had said some very kind things to him before eventually dismissing him from her office.  
If only it wasn’t 3 in the morning.  
Hawke stepped out the door to Aveline’s office with a singular plan in mind. He’d snag Fenris from where he was still conversing with Donnic by the barrack’s fireplace and then they’d both go home and sleep ’til noon.  
Only, Fenris wasn’t there.  
Hawke sighed, defeated. He must have tired of waiting and headed back on his own. If Hawke was lucky, Fenris had returned to the estate. If he wasn’t, that meant a cold night alone in an empty house. Which, frankly, sounded less than ideal at the moment. 

When Hawke turned into the main hall of the Keep, he gave a start when he heard the large oak doors to the long-empty viscount’s throne room creak open. The Keep was mostly deserted at this hour, all sane folks having retired to bed. Curious in spite of himself, Garrett changed course. As he advanced on the throne room, he spotted the figure standing alongside the door that had barely been cracked open. It was a familiar figure.  
“Fenris,” Hawke breathed as he approached, “what are you doing? I figured you’d left.”  
Fenris raised a brow at that.  
“I did not leave you. I have other plans for tonight. Plans that rely heavily on your presence.” Fenris was smiling, wicked. It did a funny thing to Hawke’s heart.  
“Other plans?” Hawke asked, still baffled, “at 3 o’clock. In the viscount’s throne room.”  
“Yes.” was all Fenris said, grin widening, before he slipped through the door. And Hawke, for his part, was helpless but to follow. 

Once Hawke was through the door, Fenris leaned around him to push it closed.  
“So we aren’t disturbed.” He whispered, close against Hawke’s ear, his warm breath sending shivers down his spine. And then he was gone, leaving the space at Hawke’s side cold and empty. 

It was dark as pitch in the room with the door closed and Hawke couldn’t see further than his own arm.  
“Now Fenris, this is hardly fair.” Hawke mumbled, playfully. He heard a huff of laughter from somewhere in a north...easterly direction? Maker, he was hopeless.  
Giving up, he called a small mage light to hand, roughly the size of an apple, but powerful enough to cast a dim blue light over the centre of the entire room when he threw it up into the air.  
“Cheat.” Fenris said, but Hawke could hear the smile in his voice. And turning his attention from the light to the place where Fenris’ voice had come from, he finally spied the elf and Fenris’ “plan” became very clear all at once.  
Hawke swallowed around the lump in his throat and forgot to stop his jaw from falling open.

Fenris had perched himself on the throne, looking every part the apathetic monarch, the haughty princeling.  
He had an elbow propped up on one of the armrests, head held almost lazily in his hand as he eyed Hawke assessingly. One of his legs he had pulled up onto the seat of the throne, his other stretched out in front of him, splayed, showing off the slim, taught shape of them, outlined in soft blue light.  
“Fenris,” Hawke breathed out, and it sounded like a prayer.  
“You may approach,” Fenris said, and his disdainful look was betrayed by the humour dancing in his eyes. 

So Hawke approached, drawn to Fenris. His tiredness was forgotten, his aches faded. His whole world was narrowed down to Fenris, and the throne.  
Hawke stopped right at the foot of the throne, close enough that he could reach out and touch Fenris. But he kept his hands where they were.  
“State your business.” Fenris said, sounding bored. His smile was trying to break through though, entertained by his own game.  
Rather than respond, Hawke gave into what his instincts had been screaming at him to do and fell to his knees before Fenris, gazing up at him as though he looked into the face of Andraste herself.  
Fenris was caught of guard by the gesture and fumbled momentarily, the look in Hawke’s eyes making his blood burn hot, before regaining his composure.  
“I’ve come to pledge fealty to you, my lord,” Hawke said, meeting Fenris’ molten gaze and holding it. “I am here to offer you my sword, my loyalty, my life. They are yours, if you will have them. I am yours.”  
It was Fenris’ turn to swallow audibly, his throat having gone very dry. But he was competitive to the last and refused to yield.  
“Champion of...Kirkwall, was it? You would offer all this at the feet of an elf?”  
“I would give you the world.” The sincerity in Hawke’s eyes was overwhelming, and Fenris began to worry that he was indeed losing at his own game.  
“Very well, Champion. I accept your offer,” Fenris lifted the leg propped against the seat of the throne to hook around Hawke’s neck, supported on Hawke’s broad shoulder, “there is only one other thing I would ask of you.”  
Fenris’ smirk had returned, and it was that, more than anything that finally broke Hawke.

“Fuck, Fenris-“ Hawke’s hands found Fenris’ legs as he pressed his face against the inside of his thigh. His hands moved in circles on Fenris’ hips, sure and firm, fingers pressed in like he was afraid Fenris would simply disappear. He kissed along the inside of Fenris’ thigh to his knee, his breath warm and wet as he moved, making Fenris’ skin hot even through the barrier of cloth between them.  
“Hawke.” Fenris groaned, as the mage turned his attention to the other thigh, lifting it to rest on his other shoulder, hands flexing, grasping. Kneading at the meat of his thighs, the curve of his ass.  
Fenris stood abruptly, nearly knocking Hawke on his ass before the elf reached down to grasp Hawke’s collar, pulling him up and into his embrace. 

Their lips found each other then, finally, and neither held anything back as they closed their eyes, gave themselves over to sensation. Hawke could feel Fenris hard against his thigh, and he groaned into the kiss as he pulled his lover tighter against him.  
With a push, Fenris managed to spin them around and get Hawke to drop into the throne so that the elf was now standing above him. He quickly moved to join him, however, straddling Hawke’s hips as he seated himself in the man’s lap. Both of them were breathing heavily now as they stared into each other’s eyes in the dim light. 

“What else is it you would ask of me, my liege?” Hawke practically panted.  
Fenris laughed then, loud and bright, “Just keep kissing me.”  
Hawke did as he was told.


End file.
